


End of the Line

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Manipulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Movie, Reader-Insert, Smut, face riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28882755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: August Walker returns. He will bind you to him by your guilt, and so he will become immortal.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	End of the Line

Does it hurt? Of course it hurts, sweetness, you think it wouldn’t? The wounds are still raw and how you press, oh darling, oh dearest, oh _pet._

You gave me your trust and I broke it, you gave me your heart and I stole it, and you love this, don’t you, this giving-back, this little taste of cruelty, because maybe I am a monster, maybe I am cruel, but _so are you._

When I rose from the dead, when I came to your door, you struck me full across the face, pet; you left a red print weeping through the bandages and you were livid; you could’ve killed me with a look and now you take and take and take and I will let you have it all. 

And you will hate yourself for this, I know. You’ll ride your high and it’ll burn you, looking down and seeing lymph smeared sticky wet across your thigh. You will hate yourself and I will revel, because this is how I bind you to me. All the pain, all the wrenching catch of flesh against raw flesh, all those weeping wounds barely covered and you tore them open. Hate me for it, sweetness, but you'll hate yourself more.

And you will be with me, and I with you, until the end. 

When you thought I was dead and gone, when you thought I'd been given to the worms, to ice and snow and empty sky, to birds pecking at me, you grieved. But it was a clean grief, wasn't it; your hands were clean of all my filth and foulness and what you kept inside your mind was a memory of me, of what you imagined I was really like.

You were wrong. 

I didn't die. Despite all that, I didn't die. I stumbled down the valley, pet, following water, til I heard voices and they helped me, though they shouldn't have. They sheltered me and hid me, and when I could walk again I stole from them and I was gone. And I'd been burned, pet, marked out, but I was dead, you see, and who would think to look for a dead man? 

Not even you, wrapped up in your grief, neat and clean like the little funeral outfit you bought but didn't wear, because who would hold a funeral for me? I saw black clothes hanging in your closet when you brought me to the bed; the tags were still on and I bet it ate at you, just a little, having to hold the tears to yourself. Knowing you could never grieve me publicly because then they'd burn you too. 

I'm your secret, pet, your dirty little secret.

Tell me you dreamed about it: about me on your doorstep, feared lost and yet somehow here; when you brought the fantasy to the forefront of your thoughts did you imagine falling into my arms? Did you imagine laying kisses all across my face, this face that’s spent more time buried in your cunt than it has breathing air? Did you imagine the ruins of my cheek, the teeth peeking through, the soft places where the bones are just beginning to knit together? Did you imagine all the anger you would feel?

This is a mistake, pet, one you're compelled to make because I compel you. This is a mistake, and yet you grind yourself down til I can't breathe, til my mouth and nose are full of the taste and the scent of you, and of the copper tang that creeps in because, pet, I am hurting. I am hurting, and I love it. What's a little more pain after everything, when the payoff is so great? After this, the very sight of me will draw ice through your veins, because you will look at me, at the scars that rise red and shiny and even worse than they would've been, because you just couldn't help it. You were always weak to me, pet, and now. 

Now I own you in a way I never have before. Now I have your pleasure, and your pain, and even if you never see me again, even if I take my bandages and blood and all the wretched shards that remain of me, I'll have left something behind. You will think on this moment, and you will remember, and you will hate it. You will hate yourself, and me, and so you'll make me immortal in your thoughts. 

Wrap yourself in this moment, pet. Let me lick and suck at you til you're shuddering apart, until you can't think beyond the pleasure of it. Let me bring you to your clenching, gasping peak; I'll make you forget what you're doing to me, what ruin you've wreaked upon my face, until you're shuddering back into yourself and then you'll realize. You'll realize you've hurt me, and it'll be all tangled up in guilt and anger and disappointment and no matter where we go, no matter what happens after this, I will own you. This moment will own you, and it will never let you go.


End file.
